


Sea Sickness

by Kaiserkorresponds



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blink And You Miss It Slash, Boats and Ships, Emetophobia, Gen, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Whump, Minor Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Nausea, Ocean, Protective Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Seasickness, Sick Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sickfic, The Magnus Archives Season 1, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29364291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiserkorresponds/pseuds/Kaiserkorresponds
Summary: Jon had grown up in a seaside town and was no stranger to the plight of seasickness. As a child, he'd watched tourist after tourist lose their lunch to the sides of the boat or off of the docks after a violent, or sometimes even a calm, voyage.Experiencing it himself was a decidedly less amusing experience.--Jon and Tim research a lead on the ocean and Jon ends up dealing with seasickness !!
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	Sea Sickness

The boat was miserable. Windy, freezing, and rocking. Horribly, nauseatingly rocking. 

Jon had grown up in a seaside town and was no stranger to the plight of seasickness. As a child, he'd watched tourist after tourist lose their lunch to the sides of the boat or off of the docks after a violent, or sometimes even a calm, voyage. 

Experiencing it himself though, was a decidedly less amusing experience. 

"Aww, boss." Tim's irritatingly peppy voice broke through his misery. "Are you still feeling sick?" 

"Yes, Tim. I am." Jon ground out.

As if it wasn't obvious from his crunched up position against the icy rail of the boat, and the sweat he could feel dripping, disgustingly, down the sides of his temples.

"Did you take the meds I picked up for you on the way?" Tim asked, leaning forward to press farther into his personal space. 

Jon swayed back a bit, having to clench his teeth at the lurch in his stomach.

"Yes, I did." He muttered. "It doesn't– doesn't seem to be helping."

He hastily clenched his jaw shut as the rocking of the boat sent a fresh wave of misery sloshing through his abdomen. 

Tim's firm grip landed on his shoulder, not digging in, but enough to steady him against the horrible see-sawing. 

"Are you gonna be ill?" He asked quietly, loud enough to be heard over the wind, but with a touch of softness that bellied his earlier teasing. 

Jon rapidly shook his head. 

"No, no." He groaned, his eyes screwing shut against his will. "I– I'm not going to be ill on a fishing boat of all places." 

In all truth he'd rather not be ill in any place, but he very decidedly did not want it to occur within the view of any of the crew or the other passengers of the Lob-Star. Especially since he had established himself here on business, and losing the meager contents of his stomach over the railing was not exactly the image of crisp professionalism he wanted to project. 

As he lost himself in recriminations, Tim carefully rubbed circles against his back, soothing without being too obvious. 

"Jon, buddy." Tim said softly after a second, just barely audible over the wind, "Do you wanna lay down for a bit?" 

He paused, the circles of his hand slowing for a split second. 

"I know you've got your image and all, but you seem pretty miserable out here."

Jon cracked open his eyes just the tiniest sliver. The gray overcast was swirled together with the froth on the waves and Tim was more of a bright smear against the monochrome than a distinct shape, but his eyes were sympathetic. The brown of them a warm light within the cool toned misery of the ocean, and at the sight of them, Jon felt himself break. 

"Yes, fine." He bit out, a hand clenched in his windbreaker and his eyes burning in the sting of the salt. 

And possibly a bit from the misery of the nausea and unrelenting vertigo. 

"I– I might need to sit for a bit." 

Tim nodded, his floral jacket crinkling as he reached out. 

"Alright, let's get you to the cabin then. Up you go." He said, gently scraping Jon off the railing with a practiced ease. "Slowly, just take it slow, okay?" 

Jon rose shakily from the harsh metal of the railing, barely stumbling after Tim even with the weight of his guiding hand on his back. 

The deck, he swore, rocked in no discernable pattern and as he faltered across the slick surface it sloshed the tiny contents of his stomach unpleasantly. 

A low groan escaped him before he could clamp down on it, and the hand buried in his dress shirt clenched tighter across his aching stomach. 

"Easy, easy, almost there. Just a few more steps." Tim murmured. 

Jon panted through a nod, barely restraining another groan. 

The last few steps were near torture, dizzying and nauseating, and if he were any more cognizant he'd be throughly embarrassed by the noises he was letting escape with each step. 

Finally, blessedly, they approached the tiny cabin of the boat. It boasted only a meager cot, made up with starchy stain proof sheets, and a desk nailed into the steel of the hull. A bucket was placed precariously under the cot, but the room was at least clean despite being saturated in the scent of fish and salty foam. 

It couldn't have been more of a relief.

"Alright, buddy." Tim carefully ushered him through the door, clicking it behind him with a loud snap. "Let's get you horizontal." 

Jon nodded the faintest bit, staggering forward onto the rough sheets and sitting heavily. Another low moan broke through his clenched jaw, and he couldn't help but sniffle with the freezing cold of the sea air and the watering of his irritated eyes. 

"Awww, Jon." Tim frowned, gazing down on him with sympathy glowing in his eyes. "You're really feeling pretty awful, aren't you?" 

Jon didn't even have the strength to deny it. Instead he curled himself against the freezing metal of the wall, and burrowed his dress shoes into the stiff blankets. 

"Alright, here." Tim stepped forward, carefully edging the blankets up. "Budge up just a bit, boss, we're just gonna relax here for a second. As much as you can, least til you don't feel like death."

Jon lifted his head heavily, barely shifting on the mattress. 

Tim clambered up onto the tiny space left on the cot, his warm body pressed up against Jon's shoulder. The presence of him was comforting and solid and so familiar it ached. And the scent of him, spicy and sweet, eclipsed the oppressive odor of the ocean for a few blissful seconds. 

A sigh heaved its way out of Jon's chest, and he couldn't help but snuggle just the tiniest fraction closer. 

"That's it, there you go." Tim murmured. "You're all good." 

Jon muttered his assent, his eyes drooping under the weight of the medication and the exhaustion of the seasickness. 

He'd be embarrassed later once he had disembarked, both at the unprofessionalism as well as the lack of feasible leads gathered from the trip. But for that minute, he was buried under the blanket of an encompassing gratefulness for Tim, and for the marginal relief that let him slip into a haze away from the churning in his stomach, and the lurching of the boat's deck.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the mini hiatus !! Plz enjoy some sickfic to make up for it !!! <3 
> 
> And if you enjoyed plz feel free to leave a comment or kudos or follow me on Tumblr !!!


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